


The Promise

by tofadeawayagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Moving On, New Years, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofadeawayagain/pseuds/tofadeawayagain
Summary: When Astoria Malfoy learns she is dying, she asks Hermione Granger to take care of her husband Draco. It's not until the following New Year's Eve that he starts to let her. A tale about the seasons of grief, friendship and love, and moving on after a devastating loss.





	1. Promises and Passings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters/anything associated with HP.

 

_December 26, 2007 – 11:43 a.m._

The solarium was warm despite the fresh snowfall on the ground. The Christmas tree twinkled in the far corner, providing a further sense of warmth and cheer, and the lights Astoria had insisted on hanging in low, slightly askew strings blazed under the dark snow clouds beyond the glass ceiling. The whole effect made Hermione feel as if she were in some kind of festive children’s clubhouse rather than in an heiress’ primary entertaining space.

She supposed that had been Astoria’s intent. She wanted Scorpius to remember the holiday as a fun one, filled with magic of a different sort. Of family and hugs, giggles and fairy lights.

She watched Astoria lean forward out of her old-fashioned wheelchair to refill her cup of tea. It was a good day for Astoria. She was cheerful, had good amounts of energy, and was refusing the pain potions Hermione had brought along to the unexpected invitation for a Boxing Day luncheon.

Astoria’s gaze was fixed on the spectacle outside of the solarium windows, where six-year-old Scorpius was struggling to decide if he’d rather ride his new toy broom, drive in the children’s monster truck that Hermione had bought him for Christmas, or fling snowballs at his father.

Hermione chuckled as she watched Draco take charge by sitting, comically folded, in the monster truck. He started to chase Scorpius through the snow, and the little boy’s shrill laughter could be heard clearly through the glass. She turned to Astoria. “There’s something I never thought I’d see. Draco Malfoy driving a Muggle children’s toy. Honestly.”

Astoria snorted at Hermione’s attempt at posh disdain. “Me either. But it suits him, I think.”

“I think so, too.”

The two women sat in silence again, watching as Scorpius hopped on his broom to throw snowballs at Draco from the air as if they were tiny, soft Bludgers.

Astoria tore her eyes away and fixed them on her friend, instead. “Hermione?”

“Hm?”

“I’m afraid I need to ask a rather large favor of you. A rather important favor.” Her voice was just as casual as always, with that tone that said she assumed the answer would be yes.

Hermione loved that about her, but right now it made her feel hesitant. “Ask away,” she prompted, though it sounded more like a question.

The other woman wrapped herself more tightly in her blanket, glanced out the window one more time, and then leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Suddenly all aristocratic airs were gone, replaced by a quiet determination Hermione was familiar with. It made Hermione want to run in the other direction, or to place her fingers in her ears and sing “God Save the Queen” at the top of her lungs.

“Take care of him for me.”

The request wasn’t entirely unexpected. She and Astoria had worked together for years at St. Mungo’s before Hermione had joined the Aurors as a field medic, where she’d been sent to join Draco’s team. Astoria liked to joke that her husband had gone and stolen her work wife. But it was more than just working together. She’d grown just as close to Astoria as she was with Ginny. Hermione had performed her first exam when she’d fallen pregnant with Scorpius. She’d babysat him far more often than his Aunt Daphne ever had, and loved him just the same as she loved Harry and Ron’s children.

She and Draco had already talked it over at work multiple times at Astoria’s urging. Scorp needed some stability. Hermione had come for Sunday lunch nearly every weekend since he’d been born. She always went to Wednesday playdates at the Potter’s, often times minding all of the children so that their parents could have some time to themselves. Some nights, Draco would bring Scorp along to Hermione’s if they had to work late.

“I thought Draco had talked to you about this,” she sighed. “I’ll be here for Scorp, Astoria. I’ll do everything I can to make things as normal for him as possible. I promise.”

Astoria bit her lip and gave her a half smile. “Oh, I’m not worried about Scorpius. I mean… yes, I am, but I know he’ll be alright. He’ll be very well loved, I have no doubt of it.” She looked outside again, watching as Draco snatched Scorpius from the air and wrestled him into the snow. “I need you to take care of Draco for me.”

Hermione waved her hand around in the air. “I’ll make sure he’s doing alright, too. I’ll make sure he’s eating, and I won’t let him do anything stupid at work. You know that already.” They’d joked about this not long ago, when joking was the only thing that could get Astoria to stay positive during her treatments. It wasn’t funny anymore. Not now that it was reality instead of a future neither of them could believe would come true.

“I need you to take care of him for me. Not like a work wife, this time. Like… like an actual wife.”

Hermione froze, her teacup hitting her saucer with a completely inappropriate amount of clatter. “Tori, you can’t joke about things like this. It’s not funny anymore, alright?”

“You’re right, it’s not funny. And I’m not joking. Just hear me out, Hermione. Okay?” Astoria reached forward across the tea table and grabbed Hermione’s hands; despite her energy, her skin was still like ice. “He trusts you. More than anyone but me.” Hermione started to protest, but Astoria shook her head. “No, I’m serious. You’re the one he goes to, even before Blaise and Theo. You’ve saved him from Azkaban, you’ve saved him in the field, and you’ve done your best to save me. You’re our best friend.”

Tears started to form in her friend’s eyes, and this more than anything convinced Hermione that she wasn’t kidding around. Astoria never cried. Not when the Healers told her that they couldn’t do anything further to stop the curse. Not when Draco had broken down at the news. Never. “He loves me with all he is. I know this is going to break him,” Astoria admitted. “I can’t stand the thought of him being alone. You know him, he’s going to shut down. He’s not going to let anyone else in.”

Secretly, Hermione agreed with this assessment. Draco Malfoy was forever trying to atone, and he’d view Astoria’s death as something he deserved. He wouldn’t try to move forward. Not without prompting. “This is crazy, Tori.”

“No. It’s not. Everyone always says it – if it weren’t for me, he’d be with you. You’re both too smart for your own good. You read all the same books. You’ve got similar interests. When you’re in the field you work like you’re one person.” She was fierce now, and it gave Hermione pause. Did people really think that? “I’ve got to leave them, Hermione. I don’t have a choice. I’d stay forever if I could, but I can’t. I need to make sure my family is looked after. You’re already a part of it. I know you think I sound crazy, but I don’t want my husband to be miserable. You’re alone, and he’ll be alone. It just makes sense.” Everything grew quiet again, but for the sound of Draco and Scorpius yelling across the yard at one another. Then Astoria murmured, “And I’d rather him be with someone I approve of than someone his mother would pick out for him. Someone who will be a good mother to my son. Someone who won’t try to erase me.”

There it was, Hermione thought. That little kernel of insecurity was something she could understand. “Tori, he would never, ever allow anyone to erase you.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try.”

“But he wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I’d still be more comfortable if I knew… if I thought it was you with him.” Astoria wiped her eyes, refusing to let her tears spill over. “It’s my dying wish, Hermione.”

 “That’s not fair,” Hermione whispered, her own eyes clouding over.

“I know. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would make you happy, too.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, refusing to let herself start. She would not spend her remaining time with her friend in tears. “Does Draco get any say in this?”

“Not particularly, no.” The two women couldn’t help chuckling at Tori’s smug tone. She rose out of her wheelchair and took a few slow steps around the table to sit next to Hermione on the couch.

“I can’t promise you anything,” Hermione insisted. “It’s his life. I’m not going to plot and scheme to ease your mind. Not even with these circumstances. That’s not me.” She wrapped her arms around her friend, guilt flooding through her.

“All I ask is that you promise to be there for him,” Astoria whispered, squeezing her tight. “If you fall in love with someone else tomorrow, then follow your heart. But if there’s no one else, and if it happens naturally… well, then you know it was what I wanted to happen. I want both of you happy.”

Hermione took a shuddering breath, pressing her face into the blanket around Astoria’s shoulders as she hugged her. “I solemnly swear that I’ll be there for him, Tori. I won’t let him grieve alone, I promise.”

Astoria pulled back with a smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“Don’t ever pull the ‘dying wish’ card on me again,” Hermione choked out, dabbing fiercely at her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

“Don’t worry, it’s single-use only, that card.”

“It isn’t funny, Astoria.”

Tori raised an eyebrow at her cockily as the door to the solarium swung open. “That was absolutely funny, darling, don’t pretend otherwise.” She then turned away and gave a smile as bright as the fairy lights above her as Scorpius skipped into the room, flinging his jacket off and leaving a trail of snow in his wake. Draco’s light-hearted chuckle filled the space as he followed, much less messily, and sat in the well-worn leather armchair nearest Astoria’s wheelchair.

Usually Hermione loved to hear his laugh, but the sound made her stomach feel heavy and full of ice.

Draco’s shrewd gray eyes flicked first to his son, who was treating his mother like a playground ladder, and then to Hermione. “Everything alright, ladies?” he inquired. He’d already switched his gaze back to Astoria and was reaching to pull Scorpius off her.

Astoria waved him back. “All fine,” she said in her cheeriest of tones. She managed to get her arms around the little boy and pin him to her lap, making him laugh as she peppered his blond head with kisses.

“Granger looks as if she’s just encountered an acromantula,” Draco noted. Hermione appreciated his blunt attitude most of the time, but not right now. Not about this.

“She’s going to be just fine, Draco.” Astoria gave Hermione that look. The one she usually used at Ministry parties when she needed saving from a particularly unpleasant conversion, or when a patient had become too handsy back in the triage ward at St. Mungo’s. “Aren’t you, Hermione?”

She resisted the urge to glare at Astoria, noting her friend’s tight grip on Scorpius’ little body, the way her free hand found Draco’s and squeezed. The plaintive look in her eyes as she gripped the two most important people in her life.

“Yes, yes,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving Tori’s. “Just fine.”

 

_December 28, 2007 – 2:14 a.m._

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

The wind wailed outside as Hermione scrubbed a hand down her face. A glance at her iHome’s clockface told her it was early – much earlier than she usually woke up, these days. She thought it must be the storm, the rain against her window pane causing her to wake so suddenly. But then it came again, that rhythmic _tap, tap, tap_ against the glass, like a polite door knock. Too rhythmic to be rain.

Her stomach dropped when she saw Draco’s owl fluttering in the gale just outside of her room.

She flung the window open, not caring as the wind tossed cold raindrops every which way. The bird rushed inside and flew to the empty perch in the corner, ruffling her feathers and looking disgruntled. She offered her foot to Hermione.

The letter had her name on it in familiar handwriting. She ripped the envelope open, her usually steady hands shaking.

_Granger,_

_Tori’s gone. She began seizing just after eleven this evening. I called the Healers, but there wasn’t anything they could do. She passed shortly before midnight._

_Draco_

 

_December 31, 2007 – 4:00 p.m._

She didn’t stand with Draco during the service, even though he’d asked her to. It felt inappropriate, despite Tori’s voice in her head saying “be there for him” over and over, and despite how shattered he looked.

He’d looked that way since she’d arrived shortly after four the morning Astoria died. He’d sat with her body for hours, just holding her hand. It had only gotten worse when Narcissa announced that Scorpius was awake. He’d insisted on telling him alone. The little boy’s wails of “I didn’t get to say goodbye” echoed through the halls. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever forget that sound, and she couldn’t imagine how Draco had managed to get through it.

She kept to the back of the crowd amidst their old coworkers from St. Mungo’s. Joined Ginny and Harry in the procession when it was time to leave a flower on the casket. Clenched her hands at the sound of Scorpius’ tears, and still tighter when Draco’s voice broke as he tried to comfort his son. Bit her cheek hard enough to bleed when the casket was sealed and lowered into the ground.

She, Harry, Ginny and Blaise stood about 100 yards from the grave site near a copse of trees, staying a respectful distance away during the final proceedings. Blaise nudged her shoulders as they watched the Greengrass’ release their handfuls of dirt.

“I had a letter from Tori before she died,” he murmured, turning his bottle green gaze on her.

“Did she ask anything of you?” Hermione asked, her tone only slightly bitter. The Greengrass’ and Narcissa had broken away, leaving Draco and Scorpius alone beside Astoria’s grave.

He nodded, his hands moving toward his pockets instinctively. She recognized the searching motion from many evenings spent hiding on the smoking balcony at Ministry functions or playing croquet on the lawns of Malfoy Manor. Would have also loved the indulgence of a cigarette if they were anywhere else. “Asked me to keep an eye on Draco, and on you. And to meddle when the time was right, if you weren’t keeping your promise.”

She wished she could smile. “Scheming and plotting, until the last. That sounds like Astoria.”

“Yes. She’s passed that mantle to me.”

They watched Draco raise his wand to perform that last horrible act expected at wizarding funerals. She’d watched Arthur Weasley placing the earth over Fred’s body, watched Andromeda do the same for Tonks. She’d watched this happen at every funeral nine long years ago, and had been haunted by it each and every time. She could see that it was already haunting Draco just by the look on his face as he froze, his wand in the air and his eyes trained on Scorpius’ face. “Go and help him, Blaise.”

“That’s not the way it’s done,” he replied, but his protestation was half-hearted at best, and his hand was already reaching into his coat to retrieve his wand.

“Go and help him. Now.”

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and nodded, following closely behind Blaise as they jogged back toward the grave. She was pleased to see that Astoria’s sister, Daphne, and her husband Theodore Nott had broken away from the rest of the family and started to walk back to the grave as well. Pleased to see that Daphne was disregarding her father’s protests just as surely as Astoria would have.

“Let’s go and collect Scorp,” Ginny whispered, tugging at Hermione’s arm. “He’s too little to have to remember this part, no matter what his grandparents think.”

They approached the small group of close friends and family now gathering around the grave site. She thought that it was okay to comfort him now that there were only familiar eyes watching. As Ginny gathered Scorpius into her arms, Hermione stood next to Draco, watching his face as he stared down at the casket.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he admitted in a whisper. “Granger, I–”

She put her hand on his forearm, gave it a small squeeze. “We’re all here to help you.”

His eyes widened and he glanced quickly around, seeming to only just become aware of the group of people surrounding him. “But that’s not how it’s done.”

“Since when did Tori ever care about how things are done?” Daphne stepped forward, purposefully blocking his view of their disapproving parents across the clearing. “When you’re ready, we’ll do it together. Take all the time you need.”

Draco nodded, cleared his throat, and reached to take Scorpius from Ginny’s arms as the others walked away a few paces to give him space.

“Scorp… it’s time to say goodbye to Mummy now, sport.” Hermione hated the way his voice cracked. Hated the way her heart broke into splinters as she listened to Scorpius telling his mother he loved her, and that he’d do like she said and never forget that she loved him, too. She kept her tears in, tried to keep a steady face for Draco as he picked the little boy up and turned toward her, his hands shaking.

“Can you take him home?” he pleaded.

She nodded, accepting Scorpius’ weight as Draco passed him to her. She turned away immediately, because she didn’t want Draco to see the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. She didn’t want to help move the earth to cover her friend’s body, her friend who had loved the sun. Instead, she marched Scorpius straight past his grandparents and up the little hill to the cemetery gate, humming the boy’s favorite lullaby to comfort him.

When they reached the gate, she felt him tug on her dress and slowed. “Hermione?”

“Mmhmm?” She set him down and knelt beside him, straightening his little tie.

“Can we come back here to visit Mummy?” he asked. “Or is this place just for people who are dead?”

He was curious like his mother and blunt like his father, and Hermione gave him a sad smile. “It’s for people who are dead, yes, but it’s also for living people. It’s a place where we can come to remember the people who aren’t here anymore. We can visit Mummy whenever you want to.” They looked over their shoulders at the group of people below.

“Is Daddy going to come home soon?”

She nodded. “As soon as he’s said goodbye to Mummy, I’m sure the next thing he’ll do is come straight back to where you are,” Hermione told him, brushing the tears from his little cheeks. She gripped his hand tightly. “Are you ready to Apparate?”

The little boy looked back at the grave, where his father was looking up, watching and waiting for them to vanish. “I love you, Mummy,” he whispered. Then he glanced up at Hermione. “Do you think she can hear me?”

She nodded again, unable to smile this time. “Absolutely. I think she’ll be listening whenever you want to talk to her. Anytime, anywhere.”

He nodded once and pulled his eyes away from where his mother rested. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

 

_December 31, 2007 – 7:20 p.m._

The Christmas tree still stood in the solarium, just as it had days ago when Astoria had summoned her for lunch. She stared at it as she held a now sleeping Scorpius. Hoped he remembered a happy time when they’d decorated that tree much more clearly than he would remember today’s events.

The door from the main house shut behind her, and she turned to watch as Draco walked into the room, slumping down into his armchair near the tea table.

“Has everyone gone, then?” she asked, careful not to wake the sleeping boy in her arms.

“Most of them. Potter and Ginny offered to take Scorp home for the night. Said it would be good for him to have some playmates to distract him.” He dragged a hand down over his face.

“You don’t have to say yes if you’re more comfortable having him at home.”

He shook his head. “No. Ginny’s right, it’ll be better for him to have some time away from all this.” He waved his hand at the door. “This place feels empty without her.”

“She always did know how to fill a room,” Hermione said softly, trying to lift his spirits.

She was rewarded with a smile, a brief break in his grief. “Yeah. That she did.”

They sat silently for a time, comforted by the quiet space and Astoria’s wildly strung fairy lights overhead.

When Scorpius began to fidget, Hermione stood up. “I’ll go get him into pajamas and take him to Ginny and Harry’s.” Draco nodded, his eyes closed. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“I’ll be alright,” he said softly, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. She didn’t believe that statement for one second. “Thanks for being there for him today, Granger. For us.”

“Of course.” She hesitated. “Do you want me to come back tonight? I can help clean up…” He was already shaking his head no.

“Go to Potter’s. Blaise will stay, if I need help. You’ve already helped plenty today.”

Astoria’s voice was ringing in her head again. But now was not the right time to be there for him. Now was the time to give him privacy and the space to grieve.

 

_December 31, 2007 – 11:52 p.m._

She tucked Scorpius in next to Albus and Rose, and was reminded strongly of a litter of puppies. The drawing room was full of sleeping children, their limbs reaching every which way.

She pulled the door shut behind her, leaving it cracked for the little ones who still feared the dark, and then returned to the back garden. Weasleys were everywhere, along with Andromeda and Fleur’s parents. She was happy to see everyone so relaxed, and amused that Teddy and Victoire were still determined to make it to midnight and celebrate with the adults.

Even so, she didn’t feel much like celebrating. Didn’t like to think of Draco alone in the manor’s carriage house, or about her friend alone and cold in the earth. Just last year, Astoria had insisted on doing shots at midnight. Just last year, she’d been whole and healthy…

Harry approached her with a glass of champagne, and she took it eagerly, watching as Ron put up a countdown clock with his wand across the yard.

She took a large sip of the sharp liquid and stared at the clock. 15 seconds.

“To Astoria?” Harry asked, raising his own glass in the air.

She nodded. “To Astoria.” They waited until the clock hit zero, and as George’s confetti blast boxes peppered the yard with shredded paper, the two friends toasted and drained their glasses.


	2. Insults and Injuries

_January 2, 2008 – 5:15 p.m._

The Floo was blocked. She wasn’t shocked by that. She expected them to need some time, and doubted that Scorpius would want to play with the other kids at the moment, anyway. She certainly wasn’t in the mood for it, either, so instead of going to visit with her friends and the kids, she went to bed at 5:30 p.m.

She finally fell asleep just after midnight.

 

_January 6, 2008 – 11:37 a.m._

She poured the last of Scorp’s favorite balsamic vinegar into the bowl, placed the plastic lid over the top, and gave the bowl a good shake. Hoped that the little boy’s favorite, caprese salad, might cheer him up a little. She knew he looked forward to it every Sunday, and it had been a few weeks now since they’d gathered for their usual Sunday lunch. But when she threw the sparkling green powder into her fireplace, nothing happened. The flames stayed a cheerful orange. The Floo was blocked again.

 

_January 7, 2008 – 9:05 a.m._

Hermione shut Harry’s office door crisply behind her, turned to face him, and glared as he mopped a hand down his face and held the other up to try and stop what he knew was coming.

“France.” Her voice quite clearly told him not to fuck with her. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“It’s not my place to disclose where employees go on their time off.” The excuse sounded weak, even to him, and he grimaced.

“Harry Potter, following the rules of the bureaucracy to the letter. I could laugh.” She smacked Draco’s letter down on the top of Harry’s desk. “He’s taken my godson off to France and you thought you’d just let me cry all over your kitchen table? Even though you knew perfectly well where they are and why I couldn’t get through the Floo?”

Harry wasn’t used to this type of needling from Hermione. He’d seen her do it to Ron, many a time, but he found he didn’t much like being on the receiving end. “Are you sure this is about him taking your godson to France and not about him taking himself to France?” he snapped.

The air between them grew chilly. “Don’t you go telling me what this is about,” she whispered, motioning between them. “This is about you lying to my face yesterday afternoon. This is about you hiding behind your job instead of giving me a bit of time to get used to the idea of having 15 Aurors reporting to me. Acting like Cornelius Fudge because it’s more comfortable for you that way.” He mopped his face again and tried to speak, but Hermione cut him off again. “This is about you acting like a coward instead of like my best friend. That is what this is about.” She didn’t even care that her voice had continued to steadily rise all this time. Didn’t care that she hadn’t remembered to charm the door and that her yelling was probably echoing down the corridor and into the office proper.

He stood up slowly, as if he were approaching a rearing hippogriff, and walked around the desk toward her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, it was completely out of line.” Even though he privately thought it must have been all too true, for her to react like that. “And you’re right, I should’ve said something yesterday.”

She just glared at the floor.

“Listen, it isn’t permanent. He’ll be back at the end of the month. If you’d rather I put Seamus in charge–”

“No, I bloody would not,” she retorted, shifting her glare back onto him.

“Alright,” he said, and she recognized the placating tone as the same one he used when Lily was throwing a tantrum. She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath as she turned away again, this time facing the door.

Hermione listened as Harry continued to walk toward her, stopping just behind where she stood. Felt his hand touch her shoulder, but she was still too mad at him to be comforted, so she shrugged it off. He sighed. “He asked me not to tell you,” he admitted. “He wants some time alone with Scorp so they can adjust. He knew he wouldn’t get that time if they stayed here.” He said it as gently as possible.

She tugged a hand through her curls, wondering why that hurt so much.

Harry moved in front of her again, but she didn’t turn away this time. “I know you want to help them, but maybe it’s good for them to have some time and space right now. Maybe it’ll help them heal.”

“We were supposed to keep things as normal as possible,” she whispered. “That’s what she wanted.”

Harry placed two fingers under her chin and tilted her head up, giving her a sad half smile. “Yes, but things aren’t normal. And I know he’s your godson and you’re worried about him, but he’s Draco’s son. If Draco thinks it’s better to take some time away, all we can do is support that.”

The words pained her, causing a contraction above her navel, a sudden loss of air as she exhaled in response.

“Come for dinner tonight,” Harry offered. “I can help you finalize the rotations, and Ginny’s making lasagna.”

“Why? So I can find out there’s something else you didn’t bother to tell me tomorrow morning?” She gave him one more sharp glare as she opened the door and moved as quickly as possible out of his office.

 

_January 7, 2008 - 6:32 p.m._

The Floo lit up, staining her living room in a momentary wash of bright emerald, and for a fleeting moment she thought it would be Draco arriving for their usual Monday night dinner and rotation review. But then Ginny walked into the room and she remembered that he’d run off to France.

Ginny placed a bottle of red wine in front of her, right on top of the surveillance timetable she was working on, and raised an eye at the mess of timetables and objective lists covering the table. “Can I help?” She pulled out a chair without being invited to do so – something Hermione had always loved about her – and made herself comfortable.

“I thought you were making lasagna,” Hermione answered, her voice exhausted.

“I was, until my husband informed me that he has been a supreme idiot.” Ginny pulled her wand out of the messy bun piled atop her head and gave it a flick. Two wine glasses floated out of a nearby cabinet. “Harry should have told you. So should Draco.”

Hermione folder her arms atop the table and buried her head in them. “Draco technically doesn’t have to tell me anything at all.”

Ginny pursed her lips in response, waving her wand again to remove the cork from the bottle with a loud pop. “Maybe not.” She poured a double-serving of wine into a glass and handed it to Hermione, followed by another for herself. “I know that he’s just lost his wife and he is having a tough go of it. But still, it was rude of him to take off for France without telling you.”

“Of course it was rude. He’s Malfoy.” Hermione gave a weak laugh, then blinked rapidly as she took a sip of her wine. She wouldn’t cry over this, she wouldn’t.

“It was also quite rude of Harry to put you in charge of the unit in Draco’s absence.” Ginny took a swig from her own glass. “I don’t think he intended to be rude, of course. But how very male of him not to think about it a bit more thoroughly. At least he didn’t deny it when I told him he’d behaved on par with my dear brother’s sense of propriety.”

Hermione snorted into her own wine glass. “Oh, I’ll bet he didn’t like that.” She knew that Harry took great pride in having more sensitivity than Ron on just about any subject.

“Not a bit,” Ginny agreed, placing her arm casually over the back of her chair. She turned concerned chocolate eyes onto Hermione. “But I didn’t much like that everyone seems to be ignoring the fact that you’ve just lost a very dear friend, so I don’t really care what he likes.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and pressed her fingers into her eyes to stop the tears from spilling over. She only succeeded in getting her hands wet.

“I’ve also sent an owl to Malfoy to scold him for being a prick. He knows good and well that you cope by taking care of other people, that you’d need the routine to get through this. It wasn’t right of him to just run off like that, grieving or not.”

“He’s got the right to think of himself and his son first, Ginny,” she choked out, unable to keep control over the hurt which was blossoming in her chest now that it had been acknowledged.

“He does, but you’re his partner. Over the last five years, you’ve saved each other in the field more times than I can count, and I’d argue that you know each other just as well as you know Harry and Ron. He should’ve told you, at the very least, instead of shutting you out.”

Hermione remembered Tori’s words that last day. _You know him, he’s going to shut down. He’s not going to let anyone else in._ She stared at the kitchen floor, noted that she’d missed a spot while mopping. “If he doesn’t want me around, I’m not going to force him. He’s got no idea that she asked-”

Ginny gripped her hand on top of the table and interrupted here. “He knows what she asked of you, Hermione.”

Hermione looked up sharply, nearly knocking over her wine glass as she pulled her hand from Ginny’s. “What do you mean, he knows?”

“He knows she asked you to look after him and Scorp. He told me and Harry after the funeral, before we all left the cemetery.”

Hermione ran her hands through her hair again, ignoring the way it made her curls begin to frizz. “Does he know that she practically asked me to be the next Mrs. Malfoy?” Anger flared in the bottom of her stomach, and she hated it. Hated being angry at a dead woman.

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “She asked that bluntly, did she?”

Hermione just nodded. “Said it was her dying wish. And I told her no. I’d be there for him, but I wouldn’t try and steer things in any direction. It’s his life, after all, and his choice how he wants to live it.” She leaned back, placed her hand against her cheek, and absently began to bite at her pinky nail.

Ginny pulled her hand away from her mouth absently. Mother’s instincts, Hermione thought. Lily was always putting things in her mouth, these days… “I don’t know if he knows about that part,” Ginny admitted. “He’s far from daft and she’s never been subtle, though, so he probably suspects it in any case.”

“Why would he suspect it?”

“Surely you realize everyone’s been joking about the two of you for years? Even Malfoy’s admitted that if he’d never met Tori, you two would’ve been a good fit.”

She wanted to deny it, but she did remember this little joke of Malfoy’s being laughed about at a Christmas party a few years back. It had been intended as a combination of joke and compliment. He was so obviously smitten with his wife that no one present had taken the comment for anything other than a poke at fun. She remembered quipping back about there being no chance of it ever working out between them as he still resembled an arrogant albino peacock. Remembered laughing with the others and then moving on to the next topic of conversation, courtesy of Blaise (why in Merlin’s name Ernie Macmillan had thought it was a good idea to wear a powder blue tuxedo).

“Yes, well, it’s all just joking. There’s nothing to it. We’re friends and work partners, that’s it. He’ll need support, and I’ll keep my promise to be there for him. But that’s it.”

“You’re like a crystal ball, Hermione,” Ginny deadpanned. “You try to blur the edges but I can still see right through you.”

Hermione scoffed and took a deeper swig of wine. “He’s my friend’s husband.”

Ginny grabbed the bottle and refilled Hermione’s wine glass. “He was your friend’s husband. Now he’s a widower.” Her voice was kind, and Hermione’s eyes filled again in reaction.

“He’s still her husband, Ginny. In his own head and in mine.” She felt that anger at Astoria churning away in her stomach again and tried to quell it. “If he wants something more later, that’ll be up to him,” she said quickly, spitting the words out as fast as possible so that she didn’t have to keep them inside any longer. “I promised her I’d let it happen if it happened naturally.”

Ginny gave her a knowing, sad smile. “Just because Astoria wanted it doesn’t mean you need to wait around for him. It’s your life, too. And it was rather unfair of her to ask so much of you.”

“The whole thing is rather unfair, Gin.” Hermione liked knowing the measure of everything, liked knowing where she stood in the scheme of things. She wasn’t certain of anything, now. She drained the freshly refilled glass of wine, clutching at her friend’s hand as she finally allowed herself to start to mourn.

 

_January 18, 2008 – 12:51 a.m._

She stared at the ceiling, her blankets a ragged mess around her body, tangled from her unconscious thrashing. It had been an old nightmare, one she hadn’t had for some time. Bellatrix was slashing at her with her wand, each cut through the air another jolt of pain through her body. Just behind her, almost out of sight, was Draco. He stood near the hearth, his eyes wide and hands clenched as he stood and watched and did nothing.

She wondered if that’s why it haunted her still.

 

_January 18, 2008 - 7:42 a.m._

Hermione pulled herself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. She flipped the switch on the kettle, rummaged in the refrigerator for a yogurt, and then sat in a chair to review the day’s tentative schedule as she ate. It was only after she’d cleaned up and grabbed her messenger bag that she realized there was a letter in the basket near the window she left open for post owls.

Her name was written on the envelope in the disjointed scrawl of a child. She carefully tore it open and found two pieces of parchment inside. One was a colorful drawing of what looked like two blond haired stick figures with their right hands raised in greeting, standing in front of a bright yellow sun. The words “I miss you” were written in the same shaky hand at the bottom of the page. She smiled at it widely and held it to her chest as she looked at the other sheet of paper.

_Granger,_

_I hope the team hasn’t been giving you too much trouble. Scorpius misses you. He asked me to owl his masterpiece to you. I hope you enjoy it._

_I’ve been informed that I’m behaving like a proper arse. I suppose that’s true enough. Not shocked, though, are you?_

_We’ll be back on 25 January. I need a few more days to spend time with Scorp._

_I’ll try not to be an arse again once we get back. No guarantees, though._

_-DM_

It was the closest to an apology that she’d ever get from him.

 

_January 21, 2008 – 7:16 a.m._

She stood next to the grave and was glad for the snow. She didn’t want to have to look at the still unsettled earth beneath the crisp, uniform expanse. The snow had a blue tinge in the predawn light, and it reminded her of years ago in the Hall of Prophecy, of watching endless globes fall from great heights, then shatter into glittering dust.

She sank down into it, a thick tartan blanket wrapped around her body. Astoria’s headstone had been put in place at some time during the last weeks. The edges on the epitaph Draco had chosen were softened by the clinging snowflakes. It was merely one word: beloved.

Hermione reached into her pocket and removed the two little bottles she’d purchased the night before at the Tesco near her parents’ house. Two single servings of gin, the cheapest she could find. Just as Tori had always liked it.

“I’ve got to go in to work, so I can only do the one,” Hermione said out loud, feeling slightly foolish. “No matter that you’d have wanted me to do more. You’re not here to be a bad influence on me, so you’ll have to deal with my prudish ways.”

She cracked the seal on the little bottle and chugged the contents down in one. It was just as foul as always, burning a path down her throat and into her core. She’d always preferred the warming sensation of fire whiskey to the icy burn of gin.

“I’ll never understand why you like this stuff,” she whispered, opening the other bottle and giving it a sniff. She then turned the bottle over and emptied it into the snow over Astoria’s grave. “Cheers.”

The chatter of birds began to reach her ears as the creatures woke, ready to greet the sun. Hermione watched as the sky turned pink. She sat a while longer, waited until the sun had cleared the treetops and turned the surface of the snow a glaring, unblemished white. Then she leaned forward and placed the empty bottles at the base of the headstone.

“Happy birthday, Tori.”

 

_January 21, 2008 - 3:07 p.m._

Seamus tossed a pile of photographs on top of her desk and sat on the edge of it without invitation. “They’ll be moving them tonight.” He looked smug. Hermione was getting tired of his nearly incessant power plays. If it weren’t for her innate drive to be top of everything, she’d let him take over the unit until Draco returned.

“Did you get confirmation this time? Or are you expecting me to mobilize the team with no hard proof? Again?” She’d intended it as a sharp comment, but instead it came across as only weary.

Seamus turned a fierce shade of red. “I’ve got proof.” He placed a corked vial full of silvery mist atop the photos. Hermione reached for it and picked up the photo on top of the pile, as well. The sight of a bloodied silver Thunderbird cramped into a cage with no room to even flex its wings, let alone stand up, made her heart feel sore. “Rolf left that memory in the cache this morning. He’s going to maintain cover in case we miss our chance at catching these bastards.”

She poured the memory into the Pensieve she kept in the drawer on the right side of her desk and lifted the shallow bowl onto the desktop. “I’m going to watch this now, but… do you know where they’re heading?”

“No. If we don’t catch them here, we’ll lose the trail until Rolf can get word to us.” Seamus fiddled with a pencil she’d left on the desk, analyzing the lead tip with interest.

Hermione brought her face to the mist, fell into the middle of a rock-strewn landscape, and watched as Rolf Scamander expertly led the smugglers into a discussion of what preparations would be necessary to send three huge Thunderbirds to their final destination. As the smugglers began to discuss the timeframe they were operating on, she nodded to herself. He’d really outdone himself this time – between the beard and the heavy Dublin accent, she could barely recognize him. She pulled herself out of the memory when one of the birds began to shriek in agony. How was he able to do this?

Seamus had moved on to clicking a pen when she returned to the present, and she immediately snatched it away from him. “None of that.”

He just smirked at her. “What, then?”

“Call everyone in. You can take point. I’ll coordinate with the Beast Division and I’ll meet you in the field at sundown.” Seamus made to leave the room, but she stopped him. “Make sure you arrest Scamander. We’ll be needing him to stay undercover.”

He nodded, all of his antagonism falling away for the first time since Draco had left. “Aye. This feels bigger than just three Thunderbirds.”

 

_January 21, 2008 - 5:14 p.m._

Hermione and the rehabilitation team from the Beast Division arrived in the Burren as the sun slipped under the horizon. She was immediately grateful for the fleece-lined gloves covering her hands. Western Ireland, with its ever present gusts of wind, felt even colder than Scotland.

She broke away from the team, accompanied only by the avian specialist, Christie Caldwell. They’d spoken briefly about the healing techniques Christie may need to use on any of the birds’ injuries, and Hermione was relieved that most were the same as she’d use on a human body. If it weren’t such a solemn occasion, she’d find it funny that they were similarly equipped, both carrying medical bags in addition to two backup wands and wearing key necklaces around their necks. Hermione’s silver necklaces would go straight to St. Mungo’s when activated. Christie wore both silver and gold varieties, with the gold keyed in to a portion of the Ministry within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures referred casually to as The Zoo.

Seamus was waiting just ahead. They were about two miles from the target area. He sent a Patronus flying into the dusk. “You’re just in time. There’s been some movement already. Looks like they’ll be trying to use Portkeys. I’ve got a team triangulated already.” He gestured in the direction in which the Patronus had vanished. “I’ve just told them to activate the Portkey blocker. Once they try to Port out, we’ll go in fast. At the very least, we should be able to save the birds.” He nodded to Christie.

Hermione stayed quiet as they approached the stakeout. Seamus had done an excellent job setting this up – this area of Ireland was his backyard, and he’d used the landscape to their advantage. It more than made up for the previous week’s blunder.

They left the magizoologist behind a massive boulder just outside the Portkey blocker’s boundaries. As soon as they’d taken their place behind a boulder of their own a short distance away, she gave Seamus a nod of approval. “Where do you want me?”

“Not going to take the reins back, then?” he scoffed, disbelieving.

“Everything looks good. You’re perfectly capable of running missions, Seamus.” She rummaged through her pack and retrieved the little orange bag she’d been looking for. His eyes widened as she handed him one of the tiny medical kits she usually gave to Draco – the one with the supplies he’d need to keep someone going long enough to get them to St. Mungo’s in the event that she got hit. “Now then, where do you want me?” she asked again, hoping that this gesture would should him that she was serious about following his orders during this operation.

He thought for a moment as he clipped the bag into place at his belt, then indicated that she should follow him. “Come with me and Cadwallader. We’re to get the smugglers handling the male.”

They joined Rhys Cadwallader, Seamus’ field partner, where he was hidden at the end of a relatively clear spot in the field of boulders. He was a few years younger, perpetually ruddy-cheeked, and grinning. “Alright, Hermione?” he asked, winking at her as she settled in beside him.

“So far, so good. How’s it looking?”

“Rolf’s started inspecting the little female’s cage. Once he makes it around to us, they could go any time.”

“You’ve set up the anti-Apparition wards?” Seamus asked, and from the roll of Rhys’ eyes, Hermione could tell that it wasn’t the first time Seamus had checked.

“Set and ready to go. We’ll activate them on Scamander’s signal.”

It was a long wait. Rolf was playing his part thoroughly, and Hermione suspected that he was stalling as he took extra time to soothe the birds. It would be worth it, if he was able to prevent them from causing havoc as soon as spells started flying. They were lucky that the smugglers had chosen Western Ireland, really. The weather here was usually foul, if not volatile in the winter months. None of the Muggles would notice anything amiss if the three birds created a storm.

Finally, she saw Rolf scratch his left calf with the toe of his right boot. Rhys reacted quickly, waving his wand and muttering under his breath. Hermione tried to feel her way into nothingness and couldn’t. The anti-Apparition wares were working.

“Here we go,” Seamus whispered, watching as the leaders of the smuggler’s ring, a short Russian man by the name of Alexi Petrov, tossed Portkeys to each of the groups surrounding the cages They heard him begin to count down from ten, and Hermione kept her wand focused on the smuggler nearest her position.

Nothing happened as Alexi’s countdown hit one. In the moment of confused silence that followed, the Aurors struck. The attack was well-coordinated. Fifteen of the twenty-one smugglers, including Scamander, were stupefied almost immediately. The others were nearly down when spells started coming from the wrong direction.

“Behind you!” Rhys yelled. He and Seamus immediately turned, back to back, and began to fire stunning spells and Impediment Jinxes into the shadows. It was a well-practiced movement, second nature for any Auror since Harry had taken over the department. In an attack, you should always have your partner’s back.

And her partner was in France, she thought bitterly, trying to position herself in front of a rock to provide herself with some cover. She successfully took down two smugglers who had been hiding nearby before she was hit from the side with a curse that threw her backwards.

She felt her right shoulder shatter upon impact, and felt her skin flay open from within as shards of broken bone went in the only direction they could. The air against her exposed bones was agony. It felt like a concentrated form of the Cruciatus, and she only distantly noticed Seamus and Rhys standing over her, covering her position, as she struggled to hang on to consciousness.

It was raining fiercely now, and a freezing wind was whipping her hair out of its bun. The screeches of the frightened Thunderbirds filled her ears. She threw up from the pain, curled into a ball against the boulder she’d been thrown into, and waited. The Aurors didn’t take long to gain the upper hand.

Soon, the only flashes of lights were the bolts of lightning emanating from the storm beginning to rage overhead. She heard someone yell the all clear, and then heard two distinct calls for a medic.

She got to her feet with some difficulty, and immediately Seamus was there at her side, reaching for her shoulders to stop her and then recoiling from the right side before making contact.

“I’ve got to get to them,” she murmured, groaning at the weight of her pack on her shoulder.

“No, you bloody don’t. Sit down.” He held onto her other arm as she swayed in the wind, turning over his shoulder to yell at Rhys. “Get Caldwell over here!”

“I’ll get her straight to the birds!” Rhys responded as he ambled over.

“No, I don’t care about the bloody birds right now! Granger’s down.”

Rhys had been too young to stay behind during the battle at Hogwarts. He’d been evacuated from the Hog’s Head and hadn’t seen what she and Seamus had. She thought that must be why he immediately turned pasty white at the sight of her shoulder.

Seamus, though, was unexpectedly steady as he lowered her back to the ground. “Just relax then love, I’m going to get this pack off of you. Keep still a moment.” With a quick Severing Charm, the shoulder straps of her medical bag fell away from her body. He caught the bag and pulled it into his lap, looking back up at Rhys. “Caldwell can treat any wounded. Check that the smugglers have all been properly stupefied, and then wake Scamander to calm the birds. We don’t need a hurricane starting because of them. And drop the wards.”

Rhys ran into the darkness to follow Seamus’ orders.

Seamus immediately began to search through her bag. “Hermione, what do I need to get out of here? I’m not Porting you out like this.”

She turned her head to look at her mangled shoulder, and was glad Seamus had made her sit. “The little green vials in the front pouch. Just one should do it.”

He did as she asked and handed one to her. She pulled the cap off with her teeth, then jabbed the needle into her right arm just below the wound. Relief was nearly instantaneous, and she’d never been more grateful that Harry and Kingsley had signed off on her procedure changes to include Muggle morphine in the field medic kits. She relaxed back against the boulder, listening as the rain pelted the ground.

Seamus was looking at her expectantly, glancing back and forth between her face and her shoulder. “What next? Nothing’s happening.”

She knew he was waiting for the bones to recede, for the skin to start knitting back together, but she shook her head. “Nothing is supposed to happen. I’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s for this one. Go on and check the team. I’ll wait here.”

“I’m not leaving you here like this!”

Hermione closed her eyes and let the haze of morphine take her over. “It’s an order, Finnegan. Check the team, and when you’re sure everyone else is alright and everything’s gone as planned, then you can Apparate me to hospital.” And with that, she drifted off into a drugged slumber.

 

_January 22, 2008 – 3:49 a.m._

She woke slowly, like a baby bird emerging from an egg. It took effort to remember how to open her eyes, and then more effort to focus them. The light in the room was minimal, but it still stung and she groaned. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized the effects of waking from a Senseless Potion.

When she could finally focus her eyes and move her limbs again, she first became aware that her entire right side remained immobilized. Then she noted the splintering sensation that meant Skelegrow was at work.

Finally, she noticed that a blond haired, baggy-eyed someone was sitting in the armchair beside the bed. Shock flooded through her. He wasn’t due back until Friday.

“What are you… they’ve had me out for four days?”

Draco leaned forward and planted his elbows on the bed. “No, no, just about six hours. Maybe a bit longer.”

“But what are you doing here?” Her brain felt muddled, and the prickle of the Skelegrow was growing stronger by the second.

“Finnegan was refusing to leave, but he had some criminals to interrogate. You know how I left my partner without someone to watch her back?” She just blinked at him, bewildered, and he smirked back at her. “Potter thought sitting here would be a fitting punishment, so he came and dragged me back.”

“You didn’t need to come back early. I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“You’ve just begun a full joint reconstruction, had a compound fracture in your clavicle, and are recovering from a concussion.” His joking tone was gone, replaced by glacial contempt. “You’re not fine.”

She groaned as he suddenly stood and began to pace the room. The light from the hall pierced her eyes and made her head spin. “Did we get them all in custody, at least?”

“Scamander says there are at least two more cells, one out of Peru and another out of Hawai’i, of all places.” He mopped his face with a hand. “This lot was heading for Kazakhstan.”

It made sense – the desert countries of the Middle East would probably pay a heavy sum on the black market for birds that could alter their weather patterns (and the state of their economies). She watched Draco pacing around the room for a moment, then gave him a half grin. “Is MACUSA taking over on the Hawai’i lead? I can think of worse places to go on business…”

“Let’s talk about this when your brain isn’t bleeding, shall we?” He was scowling, but his voice was gentle.

“Draco, really, I’m–”

“Don’t say you’re fine, Granger,” he repeated. “I should have been there.”

She placed her left forearm over her eyes in an effort to block out the bright lights from the hall. “Yes, well, you can’t be there all the time. Do me a favor and don’t get all broody about it. And shut the bloody door, will you? I’m being blinded.”

He snapped the door shut and waved his wand at the already minimal overhead lights to dim them further. As she sighed with relief, he slid back into his chair.

She opened her eyes to find that his smirk had returned. “What?”

“It’s just rare to see you being snarky, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re snarky enough for the whole department,” she mumbled, earning a small chuckle from him. “How long am I to be stuck in bed?”

“At least two days here, and then another week at home.”

She cursed under her breath before grimacing at the increasingly sharp sensations in her shoulder.

“Close your eyes, Granger. Try and sleep a bit.” He reached over and tugged the blanket up to her chin on her immobilized side.

She took a deep breath and nodded, settling back against the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d sat at her bedside due to a work injury, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Even so, she thought he’d probably had enough of sickbeds to last a lifetime.

“You don’t have to stay. I know it’s probably hard to be here. I’m alright on my own, really.”

“And I’m fine right where I am,” he retorted. “Now close your mouth and your eyes, Granger.”

So she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to EvanaK for the alpha/beta on this chapter! Thanks to all of the readers for the kudos/comments. I've only recently started writing for this fandom, and I was overwhelmed by the number of views in addition to all of the feedback. I hope you enjoyed the latest installment!


	3. Recovery 1

_January 25, 2008 – 11:18 a.m._

She’d barely settled on her sofa when the Floo turned bright green and Scorpius and Ginny stepped out of the hearth. The little boy slithered out of Ginny’s grip, running toward the sofa. He only barely managed to skid to a stop as Draco flung his arms out to block Hermione’s right shoulder.

Hermione couldn’t help chuckling as she watched Scorpius’ eyes flicker back and forth from his father’s pointed scowl to her face. She brushed Draco’s hands away and leaned forward to wrap her left arm around the boy and lift him into her lap.

“I missed you! Did you grow about five inches? I think you must have…”

Scorpius snuggled his face into her neck and gave a great sniff.

“He’s been worried about you, ‘Mione,” Ginny explained, reaching out and brushing her fingers comfortingly through the little boy’s hair.

He sniffed again as he clung to her. “Daddy went to the hospital with you and they wouldn’t let me go see you, and I thought you were going to go away like Mummy.”

Draco exhaled sharply behind her. She felt the back of the couch shift as he pulled his hands away, and heard his rapid footsteps as he retreated swiftly into the kitchen. Ginny hurried off after him, and Hermione hugged Scorpius as tight as she could. “I’m not going away like Mummy, Scorp. I’m going to be just fine in a few days.”

“Promise?”

She nodded. “It’s just some broken bones, love. I’m not sick, and I’m not so badly hurt that I can’t be mended.”

“This time.” Scorpius sat up, wiping at his eyes. It was something they’d started saying back when Astoria first got sick – after they’d talked to Scorpius about living and dying, and he became aware that anyone could die at any time. Every time that Astoria came home from the hospital she’d had to assure Scorpius that she wasn’t leaving him yet, that she was okay this time.

For some reason, it comforted him, so Hermione played along. “Yes, little love. I’m okay this time.”

She could tell he’d been trying very hard to be a big boy and not cry. He was swiftly cultivating that Malfoy reserve that she disliked so much. The same reserve she thought Draco must be struggling to regain in the kitchen right about now.

“I can’t move my arm much for the next few days, and you know how much Crookshanks likes to cuddle. I might need help giving him enough love until I’m better. And maybe some help feeding him. What do you think?”

Scorpius nodded halfheartedly. She frowned. Usually mention of the cat cheered him up quickly enough. But there was one other offer that was sure to work…

“Do you want to see my bone pictures?”

Scorpius immediately perked up. “Did you bring them with you?”

“Of course I did, silly. I knew you’d want to see them. Go grab the big envelope from my bag and I’ll show them to you.”

He did so, then scrambled back into her lap and pulled the scans from the envelope. “So what happened?”

“My shoulder got shattered, see?” She showed him the first scan. “See all the little pieces of bone?”

His jaw dropped. “Cool!”

She laughed at his reaction. “Yeah, it is pretty cool. But how they fixed it is even cooler. Look at this one. See, first they had to remove all the bones that were broken,” she stated, indicating her clavicle, humerus, and scapula. “I had no bones at all for a little bit. It was all just squishy skin and muscle.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

That’s how Ginny and Draco found them when they reentered the living room, with Scorpius thoroughly distracted from his worry, excitedly exclaiming “woah!” or “wicked!” each time Hermione showed him a new bone scan.

 

_January 26, 2008 – 9:45 a.m._

A knock sounded on the front door of her flat, and as Hermione groggily opened her eyes from her place on the couch, she saw Ginny running through the sitting room toward the entry hall to answer it.

Thank Merlin for good friends, she thought, collapsing back against the pillows before groaning and flicking the blankets away with her good arm. The Bone Strengthening Solution she’d been taking was draining her strength, and she wanted to do nothing but sleep.

She had barely moved into a sitting position when she heard Ginny muttering under her breath from the hall. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw Ginny emerge with a gigantic bouquet of yellow roses mixed with, of all things, fire lilies. The roses were wilting from the heat of the of the other flowers, and she quirked an eyebrow at Ginny.

“Who on Earth sent those?”

Ginny glared at the bouquet as she set them in the middle of the coffee table. “Seamus Finnegan, the loon.”

She blinked at the flowers, raising an eyebrow as one of the fire lilies let out a flame so hot that it turned the adjacent rose into carbon. “Why would he send fire lilies?” she whispered, aghast.

Ginny pulled books and spare bits of paper from the coffee table to ensure that nothing would catch flame, scowling all the while. “He’s always had a flare for the dramatic. And a flame for you.”

Hermione snorted. “That is absolutely not true.”

“Harry and I have endured drunken nights at the pub with that idiot, listening to him talking about how great you are with a wand.” She batted her eyes mockingly at Hermione and fell into an armchair. “How quick you are to treats his wounds.” She places a hand on her head and pretended to swoon. “How daring, how brave, how positively fiery–“

“Oh, sod off,” Hermione exclaimed, tossing her pillow at her friend. “You know, I’m starting to be offended at the amount of gossip you’ve got about me but haven’t bothered to share with me.”

“So you’re saying that you wanted to know about Seamus’ little crush?”

Hermione hesitated. The flowers had begun to sizzle.

“Thought not,” Ginny said, smug. She reached into the pocket of her worn Holyhead Harpies hoodie and withdrew an envelope. She brandished it and with a dramatic whisper announced, “There was a card.”

“Oh, hell.” Hermione wished she could wipe the smirk off Ginny’s face. “Give it here.”

“No, no, you’re injured. I simply _must_ help you read this.”

“Ginevra!” Oh, how she wished she hadn’t thrown her pillow…

Ginny cleared her throat and ripped the envelope open. Hermione groaned as Ginny flashed the front of the card at her. It was rather plain, depicting a bouquet of flowers that looked similar to a funeral arrangement on the cover. Ginny then gave the contents a quick scan. Her grin became so devilish that Hermione groaned again.

“Give it here, Ginny–“

“–‘Dear Hermione,’” Ginny began, pitching her voice higher than normal and adopting an Irish accent that was so exaggerated that Hermione began to laugh, “‘I’m ever so sorry that you were hurt on the mission. I came back to check on ye’–“ Ginny paused and momentary returned to her normal pattern of speech “–look, he actually wrote ye, y-e. Bless him.” She cleared her throat and went right back into her Seamus imitation. “‘I came back to check on ye a few times when you were still out cold, and I saw what they were doin’ to that shoulder. Made me quite faint, if I’m bein’ honest.’”

Hermione was giggling helplessly as Ginny continued, her face turning bright pink with suppressed mirth. “‘Anyway, I hope you’re feelin’ better and that you’re enjoyin’ the time off.’”

Hermione hid her face in her hands and shook her head. “It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.”

Ginny appeared to be having the time of her life. “‘I want to apologize for actin’ like such a cad when you were put in charge of the team the last few weeks. That’s no way for ye to be treated, and I hope you’ll forgive me for it, and for gettin’ hurt on my watch.’” She glanced up at Hermione and cleared her throat. “‘I hope you’ll let me try and make it up to ye. Maybe we can get dinner together once you’re feelin’ better?’” And with that, Ginny howled with laughter.

 Hermione stared, dumbfounded, at the fire lilies. “He didn’t.”

“He did. And don’t say you can’t believe it, because I can.”

Hermione experimentally rolled her stiff shoulder. “This is ruddy outrageous.” She stood up from the couch and started to pace, whining as her shoulder throbbed with every step. “I mean, really, who asks someone to dinner with a get well card?”

“Seamus Finnegan, apparently.” Ginny’s amusement seemed to grow with each passing moment. “What are you doing to tell him?”

“I can’t very well say no to him! He’ll think I’m mad about getting hurt. He’s just like Ron, you know? He’ll completely miss the point.”

Ginny sniggered at that, but then frowned. “You’re right… maybe just play ignorant and act like it’s a friends dinner. Or a colleagues dinner! I mean, honestly, the way he asked, he couldn’t blame anyone for thinking that.”

“And if he shows up with more flaming flowers? What then?” Both women just stared at the bouquet; one of the roses was burning and beginning to smoke profusely.

“Maybe we should get those in water,” Ginny mumbled.

“Cheers.” Hermione stood up and grabbed the vase with her good arm, holding it at arm’s length as she entered the kitchen. She turned on the tap and upended the entire vase into the basin, then pinched her nose as she watched a cloud of steam rising from the extinguished mess.

Suddenly, she was glad she had a whole week off.

 

_January 27, 2008 – 7:22 p.m._

After so many weeks without regular visitors to her flat, she was starting to get annoyed by the regular flare of green light that filled the sitting room each time someone decided to come and check on her. She knew they were concerned, but she was ready to have a night to herself. Crookshanks scrambled off the hearth and ran down the hall to her bedroom, and she groaned as she pushed herself up from a reclining position. Her shoulder was stiff and sore.

Draco raised a hand in greeting, then crossed the room to enter the kitchen. His baggy-eyed appearance hadn’t improved much since she’d first seen him sitting by her hospital bed. She followed him and stood in the doorway. He set a stack of files and his messenger bag down on the kitchen table and moved the centerpiece from the table to the counter.

She felt the string of annoyance buzzing in her chest. Did he think he was welcome to barge in here after a month and start clearing her table? To act like this was something normal again, when he’d gone and made it abnormal with his absence?

 _Be the bigger person_ , she told herself. She hated that she still said those words to herself after 17 long years of saying them every time this particular man made her feel unimportant. She had to remind herself that this time was different. _Nothing is normal to him, right now. Be the bigger person._

Swallowing the bitter taste that had filled her mouth at his sudden appearance, Hermione decided that she wouldn’t make him leave. She leaned against the kitchen doorway and crossed her arms over her chest. “Does this mean I’m allowed to come back to work, then?”

“No, Potter won’t budge on your recovery leave. But I know you’ve been bored, so I thought we could do the schedules like usual.”

She scoffed. He ignored it.

“Where’s Scorp?”

“Mother’s taken him for ice cream in Diagon Alley. I thought we could get takeaway curry and maybe watch that Yank alien show when we’re done.” He busied himself with spreading paperwork over the table. He then fumbled in his messenger bag and withdrew a full bottle of Ogden’s. “We can drink some of this, too, if you’re up for it.”

She was up for it, but… “Is your Mum going to be alright getting Scorp to bed?” she asked, summoning two short glasses from the cabinet above her wine rack. Narcissa loved her grandson, but she’d never been particularly helpful as a grandmother in the past. There was a reason Hermione had watched him so much as he grew, when Draco and Astoria had duties to attend to or wanted a night out together – Narcissa had always had a governess to help her with Draco, and thus had very little idea of how to handle a squalling infant on her own.

“Yes, she said she’s prepared to handle him tonight. Even full of ice cream sundae. I think they’ll be alright. Now that he can tell her what he needs, she’s much less frightened of being left alone with him.” He rolled his eyes, then stood up and opened her freezer door to retrieve a tray of ice cubes. She slid the glasses toward him and watched him pour two fingers of Ogden’s into each. He set hers on top of a stack of files, then slid both items toward her across the table.

She picked up her glass and held it up in a toast. “To competent grandmothers.”

He barked out a laugh, then held his glass up as well. “Quite.” They each took a long sip, and then Draco spun his chair around and sat on it, leaning forward on only two legs just as he knew she hated. “Alright, then, here’s what’s happened since you’ve been out.”

“Draco, sit like a normal human being.”

He ignored her. “Rolfe Scamander has requested backup in the field. He says we caught one of their magizoologists and some of their most experienced operatives the other night. We’re trying to get Christy Caldwell from Magical Creatures to go undercover on a temporary transfer. I guess she did a great job doctoring you up, and when she was done with you, she got the Thunderbirds under control and patched up without any issues. Scamander says a lot of the animals are malnourished and he’s worried some of them might die if they don’t have proper care. He’s only one bloke, so the more experienced people we have in there, the better.”

Hermione flipped her file open and stared down at it, wrinkling her nose as she saw Seamus’ signature on the report which rested on top of the stack. “Do you want me to write to Luna? She’s been working in Peru for a few years. She might have some information on the smuggling activities over there.”

“Is she still just as loopy as she was in school?”

“Well, since you’re still just as much of a prat–“

“–alright, alright. Yes. Contact Lovegood.” Draco expertly dodged the pen Hermione threw across the table at him. “Having her on the lookout should help. The Peruvian authorities are rather unwilling to get back to me, so I have International Magical Cooperation working on them. In the meantime, MACUSA has agreed to cooperate with us on the Hawai’i lead.”

Hermione’s scowl vanished. “Do we get to go? Please say that we get to go.”

“Only if you tell me that I’m not a prat.”

“I can’t tell you that, you’re definitely a prat.” She grinned as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Go on, then.”

“Yes, we get to go.”

The night suddenly seemed much better. “How soon?”

“Three weeks. MACUSA thinks they’ve been sneaking onto Kahoʻolawe and using it as a staging area. Risky, but smart. Any magic the creatures use wouldn’t trip the MACUSA wards on the island.”

“But what about the Muggle federal bans on the surrounding waters?”

Draco waved his hand through the air and wrinkled his nose. “Child’s play, Granger. Seriously, how are you still terrible at thinking like a criminal?”

Hermione glared at him. “Because I choose to believe the best of people.”

He shook his head and gave her an exasperated sigh in response. This was an old argument, and one he knew he wouldn’t win. She smirked as he prodded at the folders in front of her and changed the subject. “Schedules, Granger. Schedules.”

“Finally realized you’re not going to convince me to be cynical, are you?”

“You’re injured. I can’t argue with an injured woman.”

Hermione snorted. “That’s new.” Draco winked and took another sip of his whiskey. Hermione finally flipped open her folder to get to work, feeling considerably less annoyed that her evening had been disturbed.

 

_9:28 p.m._

She smirked as he reached across the table for the remote control. The theme song of The X-files filled the room again, and he sprawled back on the loveseat, his long legs hanging off the end.

“I don’t think seeing you competently using Muggle technology will ever get old,” she told him.

He raised an eyebrow at her and took another long swig from his third glass of whiskey. “Well, seeing you resist using magic gets older every day.” He motioned at the bag of frozen peas that was draped over her shoulder. “I thought you were supposed to be a well-regarded Healer. Surely you know a charm to do that?”

“Frozen vegetables work better.”

“Potter says the same thing but it just doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is why you are so enamoured with this show.”

He scoffed at the screen. “It’s clearly superior entertainment, Granger.”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous!” she exclaimed, depositing her empty takeaway box on the coffee table.

“As I said. Superior entertainment.” He pointed at the DVD menu on the screen. “We left off on Episode 14, yeah?”

Hermione wrapped herself in the blanket she kept draped over the back of the couch and rearranged her bag of frozen peas on her shoulder. “Maybe we should go back a few and refresh our memories.”

He scrolled back to Episode 12 and pressed the play button, tossing the remote on the ground next to the loveseat. With a flick of his wand, a bowl of popcorn floated out of the kitchen and landed on the edge of the table within easy reach for both of them.

Scully and Mulder appeared on the screen with their usual cheesy lines and sexual tension. She watched them interviewing witnesses to this episode’s strange phenomena, smiling a bit each time Draco snorted at something or mumbled under his breath. She glanced at him occasionally when she reached for a handful of popcorn, and was pleased to see that he looked normal, truly relaxed, for the first time since Boxing Day.

When he chuckled at the conclusion of the first episode and immediately started the next one, she felt warm inside, glad that her friend was feeling better, if only for a moment.

 

_11:49 p.m._

She felt herself being shaken awake and her eyes flew open. The room was dark, except for the glow from the television. Draco was kneeling on the floor next to her couch, holding both their wands in one hand and giving her a familiar squeeze to the forearm with the other.

Draco was used to her startling upon waking by now, after years of stakeouts and overnight raids. It had never bothered him the way it bothered Harry or Ron, who should have understood why she’d never lost that instinct for self-preservation she’d acquired during the war, but didn’t. Who should have understood that while they had someone to watch their backs now, they were no longer watching hers and she had to fend for herself. Draco always just gave her arm a squeeze to ground her.

When she relaxed, he pulled his hand away. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up while you’re healing, Granger. Come on, off to bed with you.”

Hermione pushed herself into a seated position and rubbed at her eyes. “I can finish this episode first.”

“We can watch it again another time, it’s no problem.” He reached behind him and retrieved a fresh bag of frozen vegetables from the coffee table, then brandished the bag at her. “Go rest and take care of that shoulder.”

“Draco, I really don’t mind staying out here if you want to keep watching the show…”

“No, no, you should really go sleep in another room. I can’t concentrate on the show with your abhorrent snoring filling the room,” he stated, smirking as she spluttered indignantly.

“I was absolutely not snoring!” He cocked an eyebrow at her, so she switched tack. “And if I was, it was not abhorrent. It was… peaceful. Cherubic, even.”

His smirk got gentler, an indulgent smile. “I wouldn’t go so far as that, but you’re right. It wasn’t that loud.” He gestured toward the hallway sternly. “You’re exhausted, Granger, so go to bed. I’ll finish this episode and let myself out. Remember, I can turn off the telly by myself now without breaking anything.”

Hermione let out an amused sigh, then stood. “Yes, yes, alright. You’re competent enough to leave alone with the appliances.” He shook the bag of frozen veggies at her again, and she accepted the bag and her wand before shuffling down the short hallway to her bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at him and nodded.

He nodded back and turned away without another word, sinking back into his chair.

 

_January 28, 2008 – 2:47 a.m._

She woke to the sound of sobbing coming from the direction of her living room. Hermione glanced at her alarm clock with its digital time and digital date, and suddenly the whole evening made sense. Especially the way he’d insisted that she go to bed while he finished watching the episode she’d fallen asleep on.

A month ago tonight, he’d watched his wife die in their bed. Of course he hadn’t gone home.

She padded into the living room and found him curled around Crookshanks on the sofa, his shoulders heaving with his effort to contain himself as the light from the television danced over his features. Had he cried at all, before now?

She slid onto the couch beside him and he moved toward her immediately, placing his head on her thighs, seeking comfort in a way that was almost childlike. He grasped at her like he was searching for an anchor in a storm.

She supposed he was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone! I've been working a ton of overtime and struggling with where to properly end this chapter. Thanks so much for all of your comments, feedback, and kudos! Every comment makes my day!
> 
> Hope you are all having an excellent spring!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Forum's "I Solemnly Swear" New Year's Fest. This began as a one-shot, but has evolved into a longer work.


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